


Sun in the Courtyard

by Tegels



Category: Lantern Bearers - Rosemary Sutcliff, SUTCLIFF Rosemary - Works
Genre: Castle Copse, F/M, Fifth century Britain, Roman Villa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tegels/pseuds/Tegels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambrosius sits in a courtyard mulling over the recent past, and meets a woman and a dog ....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun in the Courtyard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/gifts).



> Written for Bunn as part of the Sutcliff Swap 2012.
> 
> The character of Ambrosius has been a particular interest of mine for many years, and Sutcliff’s portrayal of him is one of the most vivid I’ve found in fiction. In The Lantern Bearers and Sword at Sunset, he’s not the main character, so we don’t find out too much about what is going on in his head beyond the concern for protecting the Roman settlements.
> 
> Florentius’ villa is based on Castle Copse, has strong late Roman occupation, and is exactly in the right area for Sutcliff’s fifth century Britain – being not far from Venta (modern-day Winchester) which is her Ambrosius’ headquarters. The Castle Copse villa excavation report is conservative with regards to the dating of the occupation layers into the fifth century, but this very much in the tradition of archaeologists who are (quite rightly) bound by the evidence in hand. However, in the 1980s there was a rumour that there was an excavation at what people thought might be a villa associated with Ambrosius Aurelianus …
> 
> References:  
> Hostetter, E & Howe T N (eds), 1997, The Romano British Villa at Castle Copse, Indiana University Press  
> Sutcliff, R, 1959, The Lantern Bearers, Oxford University Press
> 
> Acknowledgements:  
> Thank you to Mann for drawing a sketch plan of the later phases of the villa, for beta reading and useful suggestions.
> 
> Permission:  
> I grant permission for others to make any type of fanwork based on this work for any reason.

The gnarled old apple tree in the centre of the small courtyard tree was just coming into blossom. A bright-eyed blackbird was singing boldly on one of its twisted branches.

Ambrosius sat on a bench and leant against the wall. Though early, the sun was already giving out warmth. It would be a hot day. He closed his eyes and a memory seeped unbidden into his thoughts, as it often did.

Hengest gazing at him across the table, demanding a hostage. Young Artos and Pascent willing to offer themselves as a prisoner, to live amongst the Saxons. But they were both too valuable to Ambrosius, in different ways. Artos for his leadership and his talent for cavalry. Pascent because he was loyal and had the good will of the wild Celts. He never seriously considered sending them away.

No. It was Valarius who would go. Old Valarius who had taken him from Venta after his father Constantine had been slain. Taken him to the mountains, and kept him safe all those years. Teaching him how to ride, and use weapons. Showing him the lie of land which Ambrosius had not properly seen till he had finally come down from the mountains only few years ago.

Ambrosius knew the depths of guilt that the old soldier felt. Valarius would have done anything to remain with his lord, but Constantine knew the man would look after his sons to the point of sacrificing his own life, so gave him the task. Telling Valarius this, as Ambrosius had done several times over the years, had never dulled the hard edge of bitter disappointment the old soldier carried.

Valarius, now well past his best, with deep lines in a pouchy face and many aching wounds, had no family to leave behind. Ambrosius was aware of the soldier’s womanising, but there was no one who held his attention for long. He was completely dedicated to Ambrosius’ service.

So Ambrosius had chosen him, only to see the old soldier seemingly shed a few years, his shoulders draw back, and new pride kindle. Valarius had gone willingly. And yet Ambrosius wondered if he had done the right thing asking the older man to live amongst the Saxons. Especially as he, Ambrosius, had asked for no hostage in return. That mistake had been a matter of his own pride – he had already given his sacred oath, what need was there for an exchange of hostages too? In giving one without taking one in return he had hoped to prick some conscience from the big Saxon whose eyes had merely flickered with amusement when Ambrosius had emphatically declined the offer.

Suddenly there was a pathering of feathers from the blackbird, with it calling a furious scolding, and Ambrosius opened his eyes to see the bird fluttering off away over the courtyard wall. The reason for the disturbance became obvious as a woman stepped out from the door, past Ambrosius and into the yard.

She carried a large basket, and with her back to him, she dumped it down on the ground. There was a narrow rope slung across one corner of the yard. She rummaged in the basket and pulled out a clearly newly washed garment and proceeded to arrange it over the rope.

The woman was not aware of Ambrosius at all. She had not seen him leaning back against the wall next to the door. He watched her movements – swift and purposeful as she hung out the washing. She was tall, perhaps almost as tall as himself, and a long plait of light brown hair fell down her back to her waist, swinging between her shoulder blades as she moved. Her dress was a very faded blue, and the hem was well worn.

The woman began to sing as she worked. At first wordlessly, as if trying to remember the tune. After a few tries she was satisfied and nodded to herself, then she began again, this time with words. Ambrosius’ mouth dried for a moment, as he realised the language she was singing was Saxon. He knew those tones, which had sounded so harsh and guttural from Hengest and his men. From her lips, the sound was much softer, but unmistakable. She was a Saxon slave then.

A scrape of claws sounded along the corridor tiles and a dog limped out into the yard. It was finely made, with a slim body and muzzle - perhaps the sort of dog to hunt hares with - and with a rough brindled coat. It woofed softly and trotted over to the woman. One of the hound’s back legs seemed to be causing it pain, but may be it was a badly healed injury as the dog moved with relative ease, knowing what its balance would be.

“Pia!” the woman exclaimed and half turned away from the washing, then squatted to make a fuss of the hound. Ambrosius could see the woman’s face in profile now – she had a strong straight nose and chin. Again, she was speaking in Saxon, smiling and laughing as she played with the dog.

Abruptly, the woman stopped what she was doing and turned her head toward Ambrosius. She stood slowly, then took a few steps toward him.

“Good morning, you must be one of Lord Ambrosius’ men,” she said and smiled. The Latin fell from her tongue easily, which puzzled him. Ambrosius knew his own Latin was a little too pure, as he was still getting used to using it daily, after many years of speaking the Celtic tongue in the mountains. Her Latin sounded as though she had used it from an early age, “I didn’t see you there. Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Ambrosius was about to reply, but the hound hobbled over and thrust her muzzle at his hand. He looked down and turned his palm over. She licked at his fingers.

“Pia, behave. Come back here,” chided the woman with a resigned sigh.

“No, no, she’s fine,” said Ambrosius and leant to stroke the dog who wriggled around under his touch, eventually sprawling on her back for a stomach scratch.

The woman laughed, “She’s terrible! Anyone who is friendly back to her is a friend for life. She will literally dog your footsteps from now on.”

“Your Latin is very good.” Ambrosius commented as he scratched the hound’s soft belly.

“I am from Verulamium,” the woman replied easily.

“Over to the east. Beyond the protection of the treaty,” said Ambrosius, knowing all too well exactly where the town lay.

“We came here a few years back. My father fought with Pascent’s men for a while. He left me here with my uncle.”

“Florentius?” Although this was the first time he had visited the man’s home, Ambrosius was well acquainted with the villa owner through his membership of the council of Venta. He remembered hearing something about the man’s brother arriving from Verulam.

“That’s right,” she smiled again, “Can I get you anything? You all came in very late last night.”

“No, thank you,” Ambrosius paused and Pia sat up. He reached and ruffled the dog’s long ears, “You were speaking Saxon earlier.”

The woman hesitated a moment before replying. “My mother was Saxon. She and my father married as part of a truce between Verulam and the East Saxons.” The woman’s face lost its openness and she seemed to draw back into herself.

Ambrosius nodded. That made sense. She was part Saxon and part Roman, belonging to neither one side or the other. A difficult place to be.

“Where is your father now? I don’t think I was introduced to him last night.”

“He died last year,” she said quietly and Ambrosius now realised the reason why niece of the villa owner was dressed so raggedly and undertaking menial tasks. She was considered little better than a slave, having no father to protect her, and being part Saxon made her position even worse.

Pia shifted from under his hand and went to the woman, almost as though she knew her mistress needed comforting.

“I’d best get on with my work,” the woman said and began to turn away.

“Did Pia come from Verulam with you?” Ambrosius asked, wanting the woman to stay, though he hardly knew why.

The woman smiled ruefully, “No, she got injured when out hunting. When it became clear her leg wouldn’t heal properly, they stopped feeding her. So I adopted her. It’s easy for me to get scraps from the kitchen.”

“I left my dog back in the mountains – I wish I hadn’t,” Ambrosius said, surprised at his own will to talk.

“How long have you been with Ambrosius?” she asked, relaxing a little.

“My lord, there you are!” It was Kuno, his armour-bearer. The boy loped into the yard breathlessly. Earlier, Ambrosius had stepped over the sleeping servant to get out of the room to take a walk. The boy stared for a moment at the woman in surprise, then looked back to him.

The woman frowned at Ambrosius, clearly wondering who he was. Ambrosius’ bodyguard contained several men who might garner the title ‘Lord.’

He stood. “Well, what is it, Kuno?” he sounded more impatient than he meant to.

“We just wondered where you were, lord. Lord Florentius invites you to break fast.” Kuno shuffled his feet and waited.

“It’s been good to talk to you … and Pia,” Ambrosius said nodding to the woman.

“And I to you, my lord,” she replied lowering her gaze respectfully, and leaning to bury her fingers in the rough fur around Pia’s ears.

As he followed Kuno down the corridor, Ambrosius realised he had not asked the woman her name. It hardly mattered. There was to be a big council meeting in Venta soon, and first and foremost he needed to ensure that he had Florentius’ support. As Ambrosius walked down the corridor he could just hear the faint song of the blackbird; it must have returned to its branch in the courtyard.


End file.
